


Time Out

by Alys_Brauer, TAFKAB



Series: Chasing Stars [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Teen Angst, barnyard chores, non-vegetarianism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alys_Brauer/pseuds/Alys_Brauer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: The seriousness of Leonard's error begins to make itself known as it becomes apparent Amanda's choice is already made.  Bonus:  Spock is appalled by the phenomenon known as "ham."





	

**Author's Note:**

> We're very flattered to include a fan art of young Leonard, by our tumblr friend [liaduval](http://liaduval.tumblr.com/)!

STARDATE 2245.0409.1349.06

Thanks to the hobgoblin boy, the rest of Leonard’s afternoon rapidly descended into a chaotic hell of stress, guilt, and red tape, as the parents were duly fetched and police reports composed, witnessed, and signed. 

“We’ll discuss your punishment later, young man,” David told him before proceeding to deal with the policeman himself. Leonard hunched his shoulders and sulked.

The Vulcan ambassador gave his stoic son a look that said much the same, but Leonard noted he listened carefully as the boy--Spock-- gave a precise, unemotional rendition of the facts surrounding the incident, and did not interrupt or appear to disbelieve.

“The post supporting the girders was compromised thanks to its poor placement in an erosion zone. It is my opinion that it would have given way on its own within only a few days, perhaps injuring innocent bystanders,” Spock concluded. 

The cop just stared at the Vulcan boy with disbelief, his stylus poised over his padd, having forgotten to take notes as it recorded the statement.

“Such speculation is immaterial, Spock.” Sarek’s tone seemed normal, if crisp, but it made the self-possessed Vulcan boy wilt ever so slightly. “A great deal of damage has been done to property, if not to life and limb.”

“That wasn’t his doing. He saved my boy from his own foolishness and injured himself in doing it,” Leonard’s father spoke up quietly. “I’ll take responsibility for the damages and provide treatment for your son _gratis._ ”

Leonard winced, glaring at the rubber toe-caps of his sneakers. “I already fixed his arm.”

“He’ll require painkillers and anti-inflammatories and time in physical therapy, as well. We don’t want the joint to weaken; he could have problems with it all his life.” His father was sharp, unyielding.

“Spock will not require painkillers,” Sarek decreed calmly. “However, you may provide the remainder of your recommended treatment under my supervision.”

“I’ll make sure not to dose him with anything harmful to Vulcans.” David sagged a little as the cop handed him a summons. “Well. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof; the legalities can wait till the hearing. I’m sorry our interview was interrupted, Ambassador; I had no intention of putting you off your schedule. Perhaps you and your wife would like to finish talking in the comfort of our home?” He set his hand on Leonard’s shoulder, just heavy enough to warn him to keep his trap shut. “I’ll get him an anti-inflammatory, and Eleanora should just be putting dinner on the table when we get there. Afterward I can give your son his first physical therapy session and coach him in his therapeutic exercises.”

The aristocratic woman who had stood nearby throughout the afternoon, mostly unspeaking, chose that moment to step forward. “That is very kind of you, doctor. We are grateful to accept.” 

The Vulcan family set their rented hovercar to home on the McCoys’, and they soon set out. The ride home was painfully silent as David stewed to himself, but Leonard knew better than to interrupt while his father was thinking.

“We’d better hope those two decide to offer me that position on Vulcan,” David said at last, just as the car settled to a stop outside the two-story McCoy house, a relic of many generations, classically styled with columns, a verandah, and magnolia trees out front. “Because those damages are going to eat your college fund for breakfast and have plenty of room left over for lunch afterward.”

Leonard felt sick. “I can go to public school. I don’t want to move, Daddy.” Move? To _Vulcan_? What about his friends at school? “Let’s stay here. I’ll get a job, work out the money, maybe enlist--”

“You’re too smart for working a scut job or going to public school, and it’d take you a couple of decades to earn that much on a scut salary,” his dad said sharply. “And I don’t want you selling your soul to Starfleet. You’d be too smart for that, too-- if you had the sense to use your brains, anyway. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was bored.” Leonard fastened his eyes on the toes of his shoes again. As excuses went, it wasn’t great, but it was all he had.

“I guess moving to Vulcan will be punishment enough, if it happens.” David set a hand on his leg, giving him a rough pat. “But until further notice, you’re responsible for mucking the barn. Every evening as soon as you get home, starting tonight. I want those stalls spotless, Len. Including the cows. Even the pigpen.”

So much for not working a scut job. At least he wouldn’t have to eat shit, bowing and scraping to some jerkoff boss in Atlanta. Leonard sighed and lifted up a silent little prayer to a deity he didn’t really believe in: _Please, don’t let the Vulcans hire him._ “Thanks, Dad.”

“Vulcan might be good for you. Teach you a little self-discipline. Good schools, anyway. Good people, they say.”

If all the people there were like that insufferable pointy-eared kid, that Spock, Leonard sincerely doubted it. 

He switched sneakers for brogans in the mud room and went out, glad to wait for supper if it meant he could avoid sitting with the Vulcans, trying to mind his manners well enough to measure up to the baby hobgoblin, while everyone in the room sat there being haughtily conscious of his disgrace.

_God damn baby hobgoblin (fan art by the awesomely talented[liaduval](http://liaduval.tumblr.com/)!)_

“Got a ramrod shoved right up his prissy green ass,” he told Mercy, his favorite sow, as he chivvied her out of her corner so he could shovel her bed first. He lost himself in the rhythm of scooping and hauling buckets, dumping them in the compost, then hauling hay down to pad over the wet dirt that remained, letting her lie back down before he started on the rest of the pen.

Sweat stained the underarms of his shirt, and his soft hands didn’t like the heavy wooden handle of the shovel. But if he did a good job, maybe his dad would let him run the regenerator on the blisters. 

A prickle between his shoulderblades warned he wasn’t alone, and he lifted his head to see the Vulcan kid standing outside the fence, staring at him.

“What do you want?” He tossed a shovelful of Mercy’s finest at the bucket, which sat near the kid’s feet. He stepped back just in time to avoid the spatter, raising a brow.

“My mother was concerned you would endure low blood sugar levels as you worked. She requested you be sent food.” His even tones somehow implied he found McCoy weak, but in his hand he held a kitchen towel wrapped around one of Eleanora’s best biscuits with a thick slice of ham stuck in the middle. 

Maybe the shit-spatter had been unnecessarily rude. 

Leonard leaned the shovel against the fence and grabbed the biscuit. Mercy heaved up her grunting bulk and came to investigate, deeply interested; he crumbled off a corner for her and ate the rest himself. He was ravenous, his stomach growling as the first crumbs hit it. 

“I would help you complete your work, but I am unable to use a shovel.” 

“I can do my own damn work.” 

“Is that creature a member of the _Suidae_ family of even-toed ungulates?”

“You do and you’ll clean it up,” Leonard muttered with his mouth full. “She’s a sow. A hog. A pig.” He held up the bitten biscuit to demonstrate. “Ham,” he explained, and took another big bite.

Spock recoiled with a sharp expression of distaste, much more so than from possible exposure to pigshit. His obvious emotional response gave Leonard a pleasant thrill of satisfaction. 

“You tend these creatures only to slaughter and devour them?”

“Pork’s good eating.” He took another bite, savoring the smoky, salty meat.

The Vulcan looked pained for a moment. “You will not have pigs to slaughter and devour on Vulcan.”

“I’m not going to Vulcan.”

“You have at least a 25% chance of being selected. My calculations, however indicate that the probability is significantly higher, as my mother is already forming a preference for your father.”

He couldn’t _possibly_ have any idea how bad that sounded. Leonard chuckled.

“For his qualifications.” A flush of olive green rose on the boy’s cheeks as he corrected himself. Was that anger? Interesting. Knowing about a sore spot might prove useful.

Leonard finished with the pen and moved into the barn. The Vulcan followed, persisting despite the muck on the ground. He was going to catch hell for spoiling his shoes. ….Let him.

“If you’re going to stand there like a knot on a log, you could go up to the loft and bring me some bales of hay. That won’t need two arms.” Of course it’d take a one-armed fellow twice as long, but what did Leonard care? “The floor’s made of planks laid over rafters and they don’t always meet, so watch your step.” The last thing he needed was for the kid to break a leg and sue his daddy afterward.

Shoveling was easier in here, what with the concrete floors, and it went faster. Spock found a second bucket and carried them for him alternately, without being asked. He dumped them in the compost pile, which apparently he approved of. 

Leonard spared his breath for working. By the time he’d finished it was dark and the crickets and cicadas were singing, a pleasant syncopated murmur in the trees. Fireflies rose slowly from the grass as they walked up the hill toward the house, where the adults could be heard talking on the verandah. 

“Bioluminescent insects,” Spock observed, but he had enough of a soul in him to reach out and catch one on the tip of his finger. 

“Fireflies.”

“As I said.”

Leonard huffed annoyance. When Spock walked toward his parents, he veered away toward the side porch instead without bothering to say goodbye. He wasn’t fit for polite company in his soiled clothes; he needed a bath and some dinner, in that order. 

“My son is intensely self sufficient,” Amanda was saying as he passed, leaning toward his mother. “But I hope he is not yet irredeemably so.” Her profile glowed in tones of amber, catching the warm light of the porch lamp. “He and your Leonard will be good for one another.”

Leonard stopped dead, concealed in the darkness, his fists clenching in despair. Damn it all, he could have cussed a blue streak. The goddamned hobgoblin was right. They were going to hire his daddy and ruin his life.

Spock climbed up onto the porch, flashing his mother an inscrutable look. Leonard’s eyes narrowed. This was all his fault. If Spock didn’t exist, she wouldn’t want a doctor who had a son. Well, he wasn’t about to be the fucking hobgoblin’s keeper, or his pet, either. They could _choke_ on it. 

After he took a shower and dumped his dirty clothes in the laundry, he went straight to bed without passing through the kitchen. 

The knowledge of what was to come had spoiled his appetite.


End file.
